


The Two of Us

by KittyGodspeed118



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Death, Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6442285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyGodspeed118/pseuds/KittyGodspeed118
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a part of Hamilton that Lin posted an audio clip of that is titled the Laurens Interlude, in which Alexander finds out that John has died in combat. Dying doesn't feel so bad after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Two of Us

John Laurens stood his ground, his boots caked in mud and blood. He'd not yet heard that the war was over. Even if he'd known, it wouldn't have mattered to him. Alexander, the man he'd fallen for within the first seconds of their meeting in what seemed like a dream, was married with children. There was a sense of numbness that consumed him as he braced for attack. He'd had amazing luck in these battles, so he knew his time was coming. The strange thing was, he didn't mind it. He pointed his gun and bayonet ahead and took a deep breath. Die a hero and come home a hero until the next fight.

Across the country, Alexander was scribbling away. He'd been working incredibly hard to make sure he could help George Washington as much as possible as he assumed the role of the nation's first president. That particular day, he'd been sifting through mail and waiting for an opportunity to write to John Laurens. As they'd spent more time apart, John's letters got longer and more depressing. They clearly missed each other, but the toll was particularly heavy on John's part. Ever since Alexander's wedding, John'd been distracted. Alexander thought nothing of it because he too, had been distracted by work and the millions of thoughts that plagued his hyperactive mind. There was less time for each other as life got in the way.

It had been a while since they'd written to each other. Even still, they were on each other's minds. Alexander stood up after finishing his paper work and moved to blow out the small flame of the candle that sat by the inkwell on his cluttered desk. The flame singed his finger and caused him to pull back immediately. He'd always done the same thing to put out the flame, but that day, his finger was burnt and immediately turned red. Something was horribly off. He could tell almost immediately. Even still, nothing seemed to happen at that moment. Eliza was brushing Philip's hair and nothing seemed wrong at present.

John collapsed, the bullet that pierced his chest being lodged in place. All he could do was look up at the sky. He could not hear what was being said there on the battlefield, but he could hear a faint voice inside his head that whispered his name. Even fainter, he'd murmur the name that called to him. Alexander. His eyelids grew heavier as he gasped for his last breath. At least he'd had the opportunity to think of what he loved most. He was dying the way he knew he would and he was dying with the one thought he wanted to.

"Remember me," he begged silently, his eyes rolling back as he lay in the mud. "Don't you dare forget me. Please..."

And it was all over so quickly. There was no time to be embarrassed by how fast things ended or how slowly the news that the war had ended took to reach them. There was only time to breathe and look up. There was no time to pray that someone else would carry on his legacy and fight for an all-black battalion. There was only time to think of how he'd be remembered or even if he'd be remembered at all. The thought almost scared the life back into him. He thought of Alexander and felt calm almost immediately. He wasn't angry or bitter about the wedding anymore. He wasn't lonely. He was glad even. Glad that Alexander wouldn't have to watch him die or see the blood-stained grass where he was shot. He could only look forward to seeing Alexander again once all his work was over and done with. He hoped that Alexander would live for decades longer than he did. Change the nation into something great, my dear, he thought.

I may not live to see our glory.

"Alexander, there's a letter for you from South Carolina," Eliza said quietly, always cautious about approaching her husband when he was working.

"It's from John Laurens. I'll read it later."

But I will gladly join the fight.

"No, it's from his father."

"His father? Will you read it?"

And when our children tell our story...they'll tell the story of tonight.

"On Tuesday the 27th, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. They had not yet received the news that the war had ended. As you know, my son dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3000 men for the first all-black military regiment," Eliza read, her own tears creeping into the corners of her eyes. "His dream of freedom for these men dies with them as the remaining have been returned to their masters."

Tomorrow there'll be more of us.

"Alexander, are you alright?"

Alexander had dropped his quill and knocked over the inkwell, his mouth agape with absolute shock. His hands trembled as he attempted to stand up from his desk. His eyes were wide, tears being held at bay by nothing but sheer willpower. Suddenly, he sat down again and took up his quill.

"I have so much work to do," he choked, the words stuck to his throat as if they were meant to strangle him.

Nothing could have prepared him for such pain. He'd lived through the death of his mother, his cousin, friends on the battlefield. He'd thought it wouldn't hurt anymore. Yet, there he was. His hands shook as he wrote and his body ached all over as if someone had beaten the life out of him. He had to keep writing. Alexander knew that the moment he stopped writing was the moment he'd fall to pieces.

Why do you write like you need it to survive?

"If I stop, I will die with him," he kept saying as his hands cramped and his back ached. "I can't stop. I cannot."

He wrote until his eyes twitched from lack of sleep, head throbbed and spun from exhaustion, hands stiffened from being forced to write for days on end, stomach growled and practically begged for the food he'd been depriving himself of, and mind practically snapped from being worked tirelessly. Even Jefferson's relentless attacks had no effects on his numbed existence. Nothing even seemed to matter anymore.

Must write. Philip was shot and died holding the pistol Alexander gave him. Must write. Eliza never smiled after his affair was exposed by his own hands in an attempt to make things right. Must keep writing. Everyone wanted to know how he'd vote. Must write. It's so quiet uptown. Must write. Eliza wants to sleep and it feels like this last letter is more of a prayer than a newsflash. Must write. Burr is upset. Thy first friend and now thy enemy. Must point towards the sky. Must right the wrongs. Must write the wrongs. Write it all down. Tell your story. Do not shut up or you will fall apart, Alexander.

And here's the thing: it was almost a relief to be shot. It was right between the ribs. As he felt the life drain from him, he finally let his tears fall. He finally cried for his dear John Laurens. Only a few tears fell before he took his last breath. He could see John on the other side, his uniform bright blue and white. He smiled. Yes, he'd be leaving Eliza, but she had so much work left to do. He'd changed the country and made his mark on history. Eliza still had purpose. The thought of her carrying on and forming a legacy worth talking about made the death less painful. Alexander lay there, his eyes gazing at the sky the way John's were as he died. It was all so beautiful.

"My love, take your time," he thought, a weak smile forming on his dry lips. "I'll see you on the other side..."


End file.
